


Tribal Lore

by saraid



Series: Panther Tales [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Dubious Consent, Multi, Rape, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Panther & Chief perform a retrieval.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tribal Lore

**Author's Note:**

> There is a scene in this story that occurred in the characters' past. The scene could be seen as either rape or dub-con depending on your point of view, so I've warned for both, but the scene is in the past.

*******

The big man stepped through the glass doors confidently. He carried a black gym bag and wore black sweats and shoes.

"Can I help you?" rubbing at his eyes, the desk clerk leaned over the counter and eyed him.

This one was dangerous. A serious man, the way he moved, the way he stilled.

Cop, or fed. Or something else again.

"I need a private room. Free weights." pulling out a wallet, the man slipped out a plastic membership card -- platinum.

"Oh. Yes, sir." hastily turning to grab a key, the clerk handed it over. "Room 2b, second on the left, just follow the jogging track. Towels are on the shelf, and there's plenty of hot water."

He watched as the man stood for a second, and then nodded.

It wasn't until they started past him that he realized there was another person there. With him.

Opening his mouth to comment, he snapped it shut again, thinking about the way the man moved.

Whatever he wanted with that little guy that was stuck to him like a leech, this guy wasn't going to say one dam thing about it.

* * * * * * *

"Omph." with a grunt Jim lowered the bar to the supports.

Although there were many machines to chose from, he still preferred the simplicity of working with the plain stuff. Bars and weights and benches. Nothing fancy about it, just plain hard work.

Getting harder every year.

With a deep sigh he arched himself, locking his feet back around the legs of the bench, and hefted the bar again.

"Forty." he panted, shoving it upwards and forcing himself to lower it slowly. His arms shook with fatigue. This was the last part of his daily workout and he knew he would have to push himself to finish it.

His eyes settled briefly on Blair's still form, curled on his coat in a corner of the thickly carpeted room. His lover didn't like watching him do this, even if it did mean that Jim was able to protect him.

Feeling the scrutiny in his sleep, Blair moved restlessly and Jim switched his attention away, wanting him to sleep if he could. The next day was going to be hard. It might be pleasant, even enjoyable, but it would be hard. It always was.

"Forty-four." pant, gasp, breathe, *up*.

"Forty-five."

"Forty-six."

His arms were shaking so badly that he almost dropped the weight o his chest, not lowering it in a controlled fashion like he was supposed to.

Concentrating on the workout, caught up in his inner battle, Panther did something he hadn't done in years, not away from home.

He let someone get the drop on him.

 

It was just the clerk, coming down to do his rounds. Not many people came to work out this late. He paused to glance through the small window in the locked door, just checking that everything was alright.

And saw the man struggling with the weights, arching his back, legs out, feet flat on the floor as he abruptly abandoned proper posture and *fought* to keep it off his chest.

"Shit." worried, quiet, the clerk let himself in and rushed over to him, leaning over and hauling the bar up. "You can't work that heavy without a spotter!" he exclaimed, shocked at the effort it took to lift the bar.

"What - what are you doing in here?!" snarling, Jim would have reached for him, but his arms were like limp noodles. Limp sore noodles.

Blair sat up suddenly. His arms spread wide, as if to anchor him, and he crawled backwards into the corner, pressing himself into it, the terrified expression on his face clear despite the heavy mirrored wraparound sunglasses he wore.

"*Fuck*!" the shouted expletive unnerved the already off-balance clerk. He backed away from the big man as he rose unsteadily from the bench. "Look, I'm fine. I'm done. Get out of here, okay?" the words were almost matter-of-fact, which made them all the more impressive for being delivered in the coldest, most threatening tone the clerk had ever heard.

"Just doing my job." he said, not arguing, still backing away, not at all sure that he wanted tot urn his back on this guy.

The little guy in the corner was wrapping around himself, and rocking.

The big guy seemed to have forgotten his existence, so the clerk stood just outside the door and watched them, unable to restrain his curiosity.

 

"Chief? Caro? It's alright, mausi. I'm here. We're alone again. Just the guy from the front desk, nobody to be afraid of..."

As he spoke the big man moved slowly closer, dropping into a crouch and taking small steps. The clerk stared as the movement became something more...something catlike. Something that flowed and ebbed and slunk across that floor.

Finally he reached the younger man. As an afterthought the clerk noted that he was pretty, almost like a girl.

"Caro? Can I touch you? Are you ready? It will be okay..."

Poised, balanced, one hand outstretched, the man waited, it seemed like forever.

The younger launched himself forward, into his arms, and the big man caught him up close, still crouching, bundling the smaller man in his arms.

Although he knew himself to be a rude man, frequently a jerk, as his girlfriend was fond of pointing out, and far too nosy, the clerk found himself turning away from the window with the feeling that he'd intruded on something so desperately private that he should be ashamed of himself.

 

When they left, about thirty minutes later, he saw that the big man hadn't showered, sweat still soaked his clothing in big dark splotches, and the smaller one was clinging to him like he'd been lost for day and only just now fund his way home.

* * * * * * *

"Welcome to Princeton, sirs." stopping beside the rented luxury sport utility vehicle, the young man, Dr. Ron Patterson, stepped nimbly aside as the door opened, offering a hand.

In a good suit, not too expensive, he was tall and handsome and very very sharp. As befitted the man greeting a visiting professor of Dr. Roderaff's reknown.

The man who first emerged from the black vehicle was very tall and extremely muscular.

"Mr. Fisher. Dr. Quevas has arranged a very small private reception in the main conference room, and instructed me to ask if you would care to attend? He understands that Dr. Roderaff may wish to rest as well and so has also provided a private lounge for that purpose before the lecture begins..." the musical, well-trained voice trailed off as the man just stood and looked at him.

Suddenly he felt a an insect under a microscope. But he had been warned and he withstood the scrutiny sturdily. At last the man shook his hand briefly.

Wearing black, he seemed larger-than-life. His pale blue eyes were cold but intelligent and Ron shivered.

"Let me see how he's feeling." he said, very quietly. Almost gently.

"Of course, sir."

Watching with well-concealed but very active curiosity, Ron saw the man go to the other side of the truck and open the door by keypad. Reaching inside, he paused for a long minute, and then a small slender hand and arm reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Using it for leverage, a smaller, younger man emerged.

He leaned briefly into Fisher and then smiled slightly, his face turned up to the sun. His head was covered by a loose baseball cap and he wore not a suit, but jeans and a heavy sweater, although the day was quite warm.

Heavy sunglasses protected his eyes.

Examining him, Ron noted clues to his illness...the slight shaking of his hands, glasses and warm clothing being the most obvious.

"Dr. Roderaff. I am so pleased to meet you. Your book, 'Be Human', made me change my major as a junior and led to my doctorate." he smiled and laughed self-consciously. "But I bet you get a lot of that. Let's get you inside and set up so you can tell me how unclever that was of me."

The professor shook his head and smiled slightly. Grasping the arm of his companion, they walked companionably with Ron, safely on Fisher's other side, into the ancient lecture hall.

 

Settled in the private lounge -- a converted therapy room -- Roderaff curled comfortably in a corner of the leather sofa.

Fisher took an armchair by the door, and smiled gently at the younger man as he powered up his laptop and glanced up at him.

Ron had graciously excused himself when they said they did not wish to attend the reception and Fisher had added that perhaps the faculty members would like to come and speak to the Dr. one or two at a time.

"I don't want him overwhelmed."

"I understand perfectly." Ron had nodded, trying to make eye contact with both of them and not leave Roderaff out. "I'll tell Dr. Quevas, I know she's looking forward to speaking to you herself."

Now he spoke softly to the other man as he played with his machine.

"I'm glad you accepted this. It's been too long since you stepped out as yourself."

The words brought a twisted grin to the beautiful face.

"Well, as close to yourself as we get." matching the grin with a smirk, the big man stretched in his chair. "After last night, I was afraid you would back out. And you do have your reputation to consider. We've spent a long time building that for you."

A grimace and a non-verbal snort.

"I know, I know." Jim grinned at that. "You're tougher than that. Just sit back and shut up, you're the brains, I'm the brawn....the things I do to keep you happy, Chief."

There was silence for a minute and a cocked head as the big man listened.

"Yeah. I love you too. Here they come. You ready?"

"Sir, yes sir." the electronic voice sounded harsh in the air and, as always, made Panther twitch. He frowned and then stood and went to open the door.

* * * * * * *

"I heard he was sick for a while and that's why he hasn't lectured." a girl's voice in the crowd.

"Autism doesn't make him sick." a younger male voice objected, quickly falling into a lecture-mode. "He just can't screen stimuli the way everyone else does and gets easily overwhelmed."

"Does it really hurt him to be touched?" another girl, sounding sympathetic.

"Not hurt, I don't think -- more like he can't tune in to anything else because being touched is such a powerful thing.

Like it's all he can feel."

"I wonder what he was like growing up."

"I know you've read something about this. Most of them are unresponsive, spend all their time in comforting behavior, like rocking and spinning...if you watch closely, I bet he echoes."

"Echoes?"

"Yeah...does just a little bit of that. Like an echo of the real behavior.

"It's amazing that he can do this at all."

"He probably won't ever marry or have kids....it's not a very good way to live." the guy finished, now sounding as sympathetic as the second girl.

"It's so sad. He's only 39..." the first girl's voice cut off as the lights dimmed.

"And he's so *cute* -- I've heard that before..." the guy grumbled.

When the room was almost dark the lights began to brighten again, going to half-power.

A small man in very casual clothes stepped up onto the platform before the screen. He carried a small laptop and nothing else.

"He uses the newest voice modulation program, the one they haven't even released yet." this bit of news was whispered excitedly. "Speaking probably makes him so anxious that he shuts down."

Keeping the dark glasses on, the professor set the laptop on the podium and snapped it open, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"He's one of the first to turn to technology to balance his differences."

"Good morning." the computer voice said. It sounded incongruously cheerful when compared to the still face. "It's nice to see so many people here. I'm going to talk today about choices..."

In a chair on the floor, to the side of the podium, Panther sat, alert, ready to come to Chief's aid if he needed him.

"You say that if we hurt someone else we're just hurting ourselves, but I think that's just more new-age psycho babble." a man's voice, angry, broke into the question-and-answer portion of the lecture.

Staring into the crowd, the professor's hands moved eloquently as he thought over his answer, and then he typed quickly.

"Names don't matter. Stereotypes don't matter. All that matters is if it is true or not. If you hurt someone else --- using the widest possible definition of hurt - then, by allowing yourself to act in a manner less than human, you have hurt yourself. Every time you do that you become less than what you are."

Watching carefully, Panther grinned, hands clasped loosely between his legs. Today Chief was part psychologist, part shaman and part new-age guru. But what he said was true and always had been - people just had to realize it.

"If you take a boy, and raise him badly, do you automatically have a bad man? Of course not. Because - no matter what has happened to you in the past, no matter how bad things have been, it is always that man who decides. Perhaps he isn't aware that he is making a decision, but once it is made he can always change it. It's his responsibility. Not his family's, not his neighborhood's and not the government's. His. Or hers."

The beautiful, still face flashed a small smile at them with that word and a chuckle rose from the crowd.

It had been almost four hours. But Panther knew his lover wasn't getting tired. He would do this all day if they let him.

The questions were winding down. The crowd was beginning to stir and murmur more amongst itself.

He wrapped it up, thanking them for attending. Unlike other guest lecturers, he made no mention of his books or publishing schedule, just thanked them for their time. Standing, Panther took his arm to help him down the stairs as the applause continued.

"Very nice." he said softly. "I think you have a few converts."

Chief punched him lightly in the shoulder and they made their way to the closest door, wanting to be safely out before someone in the crowd decided to try to speak privately. Despite their excellent cover story, there was always one or two who insisted on it.

"Who was that?" the girl from the beginning spoke to her friends as they filed out. "He touched him."

"I've read that he always has a bodyguard around, to keep people away and make sure he doesn't accidentally get touched or anything, and make arrangements, speak to people for him. Maybe he's so used to him it doesn't cause the same anxiety..."

Still theorizing, they decided to go for pizza.

 

"Yea, I'm starved." wrapping an arm around the slim shoulders beside him, Panther steered them out of the building.

"Yes, Pizza would be great. Very collegiate. We'll follow my nose."

* * * * * * *

"Lecturing again. Where did he get so much to say with no voice to say it?" the voice that spoke was low and vaguely amused.

The face it came from was not at all.

"So...where have you been, Panther? You and your partner. Washington, then gone, then Egypt, then gone again. Gone to ground? Have a little burrow to hide in between 'missions'? What do you do while you're there?"

Rubbing his short beard as he thought, the man leaned back in his chair and picked up the remote control from the desk before him, clicking on the large television on the wall a few feet away.

"Someday I'll understand this. You killed my brother...and I want to know what made you so valuable that he risked his career to tell me about you."

 

The screen flickered to life. A white man, early forties, sat in an plain office, standard government issue.

"Hello, Greg. I know it's been a few months since I sent anything. It's been hard to get out safely. We're doing some stuff here...I can't describe it. And I'm worried. Not frightened, exactly...but if the public ever finds out, I know I'm going to be hung out to dry. I hope you're keeping everything I send you, I know it's going to be important someday. The subjects are pretty much the same as they were the last time I wrote, but I managed to get this video out this time-I know it's weird, but I thought you should see it."

Listening as his brother explained what was going on this time - the words were familiar from many watchings, and during them the man, Greg, remembered some of the other things his brother had told him, some of the tests they had run and the reasoning behind them - torture one to see if the other could feel it (they could), keep them apart to see if it weakened them (it did), and then, drive them together in the most intimate of settings to see if the one could be made to hurt the other.

He paused the tape to think.

 

They had been fairly ordinary people once, this Panther and Chief. With ordinary lives. Of course someone -- not his brother or the people he worked for, Greg knew that much -- had erased every clue to the Chief's identity in the year following their escape. So thoroughly that now even he couldn't find it, with his resources.

His brother John, bless him, would have been shocked to see them this way. As lovers, which Greg had no doubt they were. The once straight-arrow cop had been tortured and tormented until he fell in love with his younger partner.

"Was that what happened? Is it as simple as that?" he asked himself, studying his brother's face. It was a near-perfect match for his own, only the small scar on John's chin marring that perfection. He'd fallen while nursing on a glass bottle as a toddler, before they quit making the things. Greg had cried as loudly as John did, feeling his brother's pain, as he always had.

Missing him was like missing an arm. Living with only one lung and half a heart. Never whole. Never able to draw a complete breath or get enough blood into his body.

Or feel.

These men had taken that from him. These ordinary, basically normal, heterosexual men that were now something else, something John had a part in making.

No longer ordinary, no longer normal, if they ever had been.

And certainly no longer heterosexual.

He hit the button just before the pause ran out, and watched his brother speak to him from the grave.

 

"They've been teasing him with pheromone extracts, videos and visuals and auditory stimulus for weeks now, all combined with sensory depravation techniques. He's desperate for sexual contact, we know how this affects him. But we also think that he's never touched a man before, never considered it. Since there's no way to work the Guide up to this point, he's been restrained. I don't know if they'll stop him if he hurts him...This is so disgusting, Greg. How did I get into this? Here's the video. I'm going to just send it as is, you can draw your own conclusions. I'm trusting you to hold onto the things I send you - if anything happens to me, do what you think best with it."

 

Greg stared at his brother's face as long as it was on the screen. That had been the last time he saw it. The tape had arrived two days after John's death in the fire.

He wanted to know what had happened. Gathering information on these two men was the only way he knew to find out.

Now he would watch the tape again, and see if he could draw any new conclusions from it.

The screen fuzzed and blanked for a second, and then cleared. It showed a small room, with a hospital bed, and two men in white coats on either side of it.

One stepped back, just long enough for Greg to see.

The young man, bald, naked. Again restrained, but this time with padded handcuffs and chains around his wrists and ankles. On his stomach on the bed. Nude and shivering. Ribs and hipbones too-evident, stretching dry skin.

His face was uncovered, ungagged but he hadn't spoken in months. There had been damage to the vocal chords early on and the doctors thought he would never speak again.

"We don't want him to actually hurt him. That's why we're preparing him like this."

"This is not what I went to med school for, y'know." the mildly disgusted, resigned voices of the junior researchers were quiet as they worked over the thin body. Greg knew from earlier information that the subject 'Guide' did not eat well, they had resorted to intravenous feedings more than once.

"Here, you do this part. You owe me."

The taller of the two handed a plain white tube to the other, who took it with a grimace. He squeezed a quantity of gel onto his fingers and moved to spread it on the subject's butt.

The restrained man fought as best he could, and the taller man leaned over his back, using his weight to hold him down.

"Get plenty in there." he teased his partner. "Y'know we're going to end up cleaning him up afterwards."

"This is *so* disgusting." grumbling, the man dug two fingers into the unprotected ass, using his other hand to expose the opening.

"But it's going to be damned interesting to watch."

Greg's attention was drawn away from the two men, speaking calmly over the other, and to the face of the subject. His head was flat on the bed, facing the camera uncaringingly. Those beautiful eyes were squeezed tightly shut...and a trickle of wetness seeped stubbornly from beneath the one that wasn't pressed to the sheet.

He didn't cry often. All of the things they had done to him, Greg's brother had commented several times on his stoicism. When he did break down it was because they were hurting the other one.

Now he cried, silently. Unable to stop it, Greg felt a small measure of pity for that tormented young man, being so casually violated.

It didn't excuse what they had done. Nothing could. But there were people who had deserved that punishment, and people who didn't.

"My brother didn't deserve to die. He was just a programmer, a computer nerd. You could have just killed the doctors." he said the words aloud to allay the pity.

The junior researchers left the room. The young man trembled and tested his bonds, one after the other. He'd been told what they were planning, what they hoped would happen, what they thought they would learn from it. They'd told him hoping that he would go along with it and not get himself hurt.

Then he lay still, only the near-constant shivering giving evidence that he was awake, or alive.

Greg watched closely as the second man was led in. He didn't look like a panther now. Walking between his orderlies, arms and legs in irons that kept him at a shuffle. He'd hurt several of them in the early months, but now he was too weak and disoriented to be truly dangerous.

Far thinner now, his head was also shaved, his skin pale from lack of sunlight.

Blindfolded, gagged, bound, naked, he was pushed into the room. His penis was thick and heavy with unrelieved arousal. One orderly watched while the other unlocked the chains, and then they both left, taking the chains with them.

Greg knew from earlier messages that the room was sealed, on it's own air circuits and everything.

Panther stood very still, balanced on the balls of his feet, sniffing the air. The flare of his nostrils was clear.

With shaking hands he peeled off the blindfold, blinking furiously in the brightness of the room, shaking his head as tears streamed from his eyes. The gag came next, ripped from his face and thrown aside, and then he leapt toward the bed, jumping right up onto it, causing the frame to shake. But it was bolted to the floor and remained stable.

His arms whipped round the slender shivering body and the victim arched, fighting, his head rolling back and forth, eyes wide with panic, arms and legs tensed and tight against the chains. An unearthly noise came from his wide-open mouth, some terrified combination of fear and hatred.

Ignoring all of this, Panther straddled his thin ass and gripped the cheeks eagerly, leaning to sniff at him in a very animalistic fashion. Then he used one hand in the small of the back and his own weight on the smaller man's thighs to hold him down.

His free hand went to his engorged penis and gripped it, and he leaned close, showing every intention of raping his one-time partner.

Greg leaned forward, watching closely. Trying, as always, to understand what happened next.

In the very act of forcing himself into the unwilling body, the man suddenly sat back on his knees, both hands going to his head. He gripped it tightly and howled.

Greg pulled back, as he always did at this moment.

The screaming went on for several minutes. Four minutes and sixteen seconds exactly, he'd timed it more than once. But it wasn't important.

The screaming stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

Then the man, his body still tight with need, penis red and angry and drooling, crawled to the side of his partner and embraced him. Awkwardly because of the chains, but a loving embrace nonetheless.

He kissed him tenderly, his eyes sliding closed. The man on the bed shook harder and big hands began stroking his body gently, soothingly. With love.

Greg could see the calm as it settled over them. Almost a physical thing. The scientists hadn't been able to explain it.

What they had expected -- had planned -- to be a rape became lovemaking.

 

Panther curled as much of his body around his partner as he could in the narrow bed. He spared an angry glare for the camera, but it was out of reach and well protected. His hands stroked and soothed and petted until the smaller man was still, panting lightly, mouth searching for his.

Using the chains for leverage, the partner pulled himself up some and to the side, using what little slack he had to turn as close as he could to the larger body.

They kissed. Tenderly, hungrily, hotly. Big hands cradled fine-boned face, smaller hands clenched broad shoulders.

After twenty-eight minutes and forty-six seconds Panther pulled away.

He studied the eyes of the smaller man, holding his face still.

The smaller man nodded, once, slowly.

 

After that the act was completed quickly. Greg watched with resignation, somehow driven to sit through the whole thing, although he found it disturbing.

Panther moved back to straddle Chief again, his big hands petting and stroking his back and buttocks, leaning to kiss his neck and the smooth skin of his head. Entry was achieved slowly, with great care, but pain was still obvious on the thin pretty face. The big man lay still atop him for many minutes before moving again at some invisible signal.

Smoothly, a few strokes, gentle thrusts. Then Chief's hips were rising to meet him, an unexpected development, and a big hand slid around the too-thin body to caress the first erection Chief had gotten since he was picked up.

Twisting his body he managed to get into a position where Panther could lean and kiss him as he pulled and thrust. For a man who had been so well primed, had been frankly tortured into this, Panther seemed capable of going on forever. But he must have suspected that those watching would get impatient with this. Gently biting at the back of Chief's neck he did something with his stroking hand and the smaller man convulsed with startling strength, considering his condition, and then Panther froze as well, plastered to the smaller body, holding to it like a lifeline.

*There.*

Greg hit the freeze-frame button.

That was where the researchers had screwed up.

For some reason -- guilt or disgust or compassion or pity -- they had left the two men alone for nearly an hour after the sex.

Panther again curled around Chief's body and they both appeared to sleep. As peaceful happy and content as they would have been ten months earlier safe in the home they shared.

Something had changed then. He had no evidence, but Greg knew it. When the orderlies returned Panther kissed Chief on the cheek sweetly and allowed himself to be shackled and led away without a fuss. Chief was carefully bathed and then allowed to turn over and restrained again before he was offered food, fed to him by one of the men who had watched him be fucked by his one-

time partner. The distaste was clear on the researcher's face.

Food that he ate. Slowly and reluctantly, but he ate it.

His eyes were clear. His hands didn't shake. And he looked directly into the camera, more than once.

 

Clicking off the machine, the man with the beard sat back in his chair, listening as the tape rewound scratchily.

What to do?

He hadn't decided yet if he wanted to kill these men. Or somehow make them pay for his brother's death. But they were so powerful together, they could be so useful. And there were ways to control them.

He could use them.

* * * * * * *

"mmm." the low raspy note of pleasure made Panther smile. He watched Chief eat, enjoying it more than eating his own slice of pepperoni pie.

They'd quickly found the local pizza joint, only a couple of blocks from the campus. The walk had been good for Chief, he'd loosened up and done a bit of people watching. Panther had seen recognition in the eyes of several people they passed, but all of them knew enough about them to stay back and let them be.

"Just have to say something about pizza this good, don't you." he teased gently as Chief closed his eyes and chewed.

Taking a napkin, he wiped the drop of sauce off his lower lip.

Blinking, Chief glared at him half-heartedly.

"Excuse me."

Not startled, but pleased that the young man who spoke stood well back from the booth, his hands behind his back, as still as possible, Panther turned.

"Yes?" polite but reserved.

Beside him Chief ducked a bit, one hand settling on Panther's shoulder and gripping it tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. The student glanced at the hand but didn't stare at Chief.

"We were at the lecture...and wondered if Dr. Roderaff would be up to talking to us for a few minutes?"

Chief ducked his head, pressing his face into Jim's side.

The big man slid an arm around him and watched the student's eyes widen.

"We understand if it's too much." he said softly. "I kinda thought that maybe it was a bad idea."

Hearing the honest disappointment in his voice, knowing that the young man had done everything right, Panther considered before answering, cocking his head to one side as he studied him.

"Give me a few minutes to settle him." he said finally.

"I'll tell you when it's okay to come over."

"Really?" surprised pleasure. "We'll be quiet and try to sit still."

"I know you will."

The young man walked back to his friends, deliberately slowly, and Jim listened to their excited comments as Chief fussed at him, his free hand plucking at Jim's shirt restlessly.

"It will be good for you. I remember how you used to love those bull sessions you would get into...talking till two or three o'clock in the morning. You can't do that anymore, but you can talk to these kids."

A glare from his lover, who bit into a second slice of pizza with more force than necessary, and Panther smiled.

"Yeah, I know. You love me."

The big man reached under the table for the laptop bag and pulled it out, setting it up himself, and then waved to the three young people at the table, the young man and two women.

They came over, all of them making an obvious effort to be quiet.

"Hey." the computer voice was too loud for the room and Jim turned it down hastily, reaching around Chief to do so. The students sat, two on the other side of the booth and the guy pulling a chair up to the end.

"Wow. Thanks for talking to us." one of the girls, a short-haired brunette, seemed in awe. "I'm Holly, and this is Misha and Carla."

"Hi." Carla was tall and pudgy and had beautiful blue eyes, like arctic ice.

"I was afraid that I would offend you, just coming over and intruding like that." Misha shook a dangling black curl out of his dark eyes. His hair was dark and curly but looked coarse, his skin was too dark to be white and not olive enough to be Italian or Hispanic...Panther figured he was mixed.

"Not offended. Just nervous." Chief didn't look up from the keyboard. "This is Andrew." he reached and patted Panther's chest affectionately. "He takes care of me."

"It looks like he's doing a good job." Carla smiled.

The conversation was slow getting started, but Blair soon found his tongue, so to speak, and then it became animated. Left behind, Jim sat with an arm around his partner and leaned back in the booth, scanning idly and enjoying the closeness, the normalcy of the evening.

It had been months, almost a year, since Blair did this. Sat in public and spoke to other people one-to-one. Although it was hard for him, Jim knew it was important, too.

A pitcher of beer found it's way to the table and Chief surprised him by sipping on a glass.

The battery light on the laptop was flashing nearly two hours later. Chief stroked his fingers across it idly and Panther caught his hand.

"I can go get the other one." he held the hand still while the students watched with poorly-concealed fascination.

Chief's free hand came up and clutched at him.

"Or not." with a sad smile and a sigh, Jim turned back to the students. "I think he's had enough for tonight."

"Oh, that's okay. We really should be studying anyhow."

Carla, who had proven herself to be insightful as well as kind, began scooping up the scattered napkins and stacking plates.

"This was really great. A chance-of-a-lifetime sortof thing." Holly added.

"We really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us." Misha added. His hand made a movement toward Chief and he pulled it back, blushing faintly. "Sorry...some manners don't work everywhere."

"That's alright." the computer voice said. Jim held out his hand and shook Misha's and then the girls' in turn. "I enjoyed talking to you. Thank you for sharing your time with me."

"No, thank you. You've been great."

Seeing the warning in Jim's eyes, Misha glanced at the professor's free hand, which was lying flat on the table. The tremor in it was clearly visible.

He stood and got the girls going. Ten minutes later Panther and Chief were in the parking lot, the smaller man clinging to the larger.

Knowing that the students had followed them out and were headed for an old-model ford, Panther tried to restrain his partner, but the smaller man was trembling and needed the contact badly now. The effort of blocking out the three younger people for two hours in such close quarters had pushed his limits.

"Shhh. Easy, caro. It's okay. We're alone now." gathering the too-thin body into his arms, Panther leaned on the side of the truck and held him tightly. He listened to the students as they got into their car and watched.

"Look - he's touching him!" Holly was protesting.

"He must have gotten used to him." Misha said.

"Or become to depend on him. I think he works as a filter or a screen." Carla was thoughtful.

"Do you think they're lovers?" although laws had been passed that both protected homosexuals and allowed them the same rights as heterosexual couples, public opinion was still strongly divided on the issue.

Lowering his head and claiming Blair's mouth in a tender, loving kiss, Jim answered that.

Then Blair was kissing him back, no less lovingly but with a lot less tenderness, and he let his mind skip away from the voices of the young people and concentrate on the feel of his love in his arms.

* * * * * * *

"I know."

The words were spoken slowly into the dark. Panther half-sat and then leaned over the still form beside him. "We'll do it tomorrow."

A small, elegant hand slid up his chest, pausing to stroke lightly over well-defined pecs.

"Yes, we'll return it to the tribe, of course. It belongs there...oh, caro. The way you touch me...*There*. Yes, there. Ahh..."

Neither of them needed words for the rest of the night.

* * * * * * *

"We're here to see Chief Graham."

The secretary looked up from her attractive desk, made of old mesquite, and stared, black eyes wide.

The man before her was large, and dressed in black. He carried a gym bag. And met her eyes with the coldest blue ones she'd ever seen.

"You don't have an appointment." managing to get the words out without stammering, the objection was still faint.

Glancing around the luxurious lobby of the Attaqwa Nation Tribal Headquarters, the man brought his eyes back to rest on her. She saw the way he looked at the security cameras.

"Tell him I'm here." it was an order, and she responded to it as such, pushing a button on the phone and waiting for an answer.

"Yes, Cathy?"

"There's a man here to see you. He won't give me his name..."

"I'm expecting him."

Hanging up, she gestured at the big double doors behind her.

"You can go in."

He walked past and she saw the smaller man who walked behind him, pressed close. Her gasp was loud in the hushed room.

The second man didn't even look her way.

* * * * * * *

Graham was an average man. Of average height and weight, with the copper skin and broad face of his ancestors, his hair worn in a simple ponytail. He was already standing when they entered the room.

"Panther." he said with something akin to awe. "I've turned the cameras off."

The big man stopped in front of the desk, setting the bag on it, resting both hands on the bag. A smaller hand slipped halfway round his waist, clinging.

"Easy, caro." the Indian Chief knew the words weren't directed at him.

"Your partner?" he asked. Unable to restrain his curiosity, he leaned forward, and the big man took a half-step to the side, shielding.

"No. He'll come out if he wants to."

"I just wanted to thank him. To have this back in our possession...you know the tribe has been working toward this goal for over a hundred years."

"I know."

The big hands opened the bag and reverently pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle, offering it to Graham.

Taking it, he unwrapped it with shaking hands, smiling slightly at his nervousness.

The statue wasn't beautiful. Chipped from stone, it was rough and dull and disproportioned. But it was three hundred years old, one of the first pieces ever found that connected directly to their tribe...and now they had it back.

"You left the forgery?"

"Yes. He-" a gesture behind him, "- said it was very good."

"Our best craftsmen worked on it for months. It may be years before they realize this is gone."

"We were glad to help." closing the bag, the big man looked expectant.

Setting the statue down on the desk with exaggerated care, Graham broke into a wide smile. "I've already made the wire transfer of funds. You can use my computer to check them, if you like."

"No, we have our own." tugging on the hand at his waist, the mercenary encouraged his partner to come out of hiding, speaking quietly to him. "Sit at the table, caro, and check in. Make sure everything went okay."

With great reluctance the smaller man emerged from his safe place, carrying his own small bag to the table on the wall, pulling out and powering up a small laptop. Graham stared at him, glancing occasionally at Panther, who was watching, arms folded over his chest, apparently at ease.

The Chief had contacted these men as a desperate last resort. The tribe had lost three court battles over the statue, battles that had been very expensive and time-consuming. When his wife had fist proposed just stealing it, the inner tribal council had been less than enthusiastic.

Tentative forays into the world of espionage via the internet had brought the attention of the FBI, but, fortunately, the tribe was protected from their queries. They had been ready to give up, however, when they got a message back. It had been simple and to the point.

"We agree that this piece belongs with the tribe. We will get it for you. Write to discuss details. Panther & Chief."

That was all they'd had to go on, until a sympathetic FBI agent - a handsome young black man - had taken a moment to tell Graham privately who Panther and Chief were. Well known mercenaries, expensive, talented, eccentric. He had advised against this course of action and then promised to forget the conversation.

Expensive, yes. Graham watched the man type rapidly, presumably checking the wire transfer of money. Five hundred thousand dollars expensive. But the tribe had plenty of money, thanks to two hugely successful casino complexes, and they'd already spent more than that in court battles.

The hardest part had been constructing the forgery. Panther had suggested it and they'd realized then that they could do this and perhaps no one would be the wiser.

If the man could break into the Smithsonian without being caught. Graham would cheerfully admit that he'd had his doubts about *that*.

But here he was. And here was the statue, the real one. It would have to be authenticated by the experts, of course, but these men had a reputation to consider. They wouldn't risk it by pulling some stupid stunt. They were professionals.

The second man looked up. He was smiling softly.

Panther's smile was feral.

"Good." he looked at Graham. "I'd like the tape to the lobby camera as well, please."

"What? Oh." Flustered, Graham nodded. "I'll get it myself." leaving the statue in the room, he left them alone momentarily.

 

When he came back just over twenty minutes later, the laptop was away and Chief was standing before the plate-glass window.

Panther had his bag at his side and took the tape when it was offered.

"It was good doing business with you." he said.

Then he gathered his partner close again, the younger man taking what must be his customary place behind him, and they left with as little fanfare as they'd arrived.

Graham sat at his desk, fingers stroking over the physical history of his people, and grinned goofily to himself. He'd just enjoy it here by himself for a few minutes before putting it in the vault.

When he got up later and went to the giant framed painting, by a tribeswoman that was gaining some popularity, that hung in front of the vault, he noticed that it was the tiniest bit askew.

Worried, he opened it quickly and stepped in...but everything was fine. Everything looked exactly the way it should.

Chalking it up to nerves, he placed the statue and went to make some calls, to share the good news with the few who could keep the secret. Eventually it would get out and a rumor would start and someday the whole tribe - all 4,321 of them - would know, and they would all keep quiet about it. But for now, there were only ten to tell, including his wife and son.

The crooked picture stayed on his mind for several days, but he did finally forget as life swung back onto schedule.

It was a little bit sad, to have his life's ambition fulfilled. Now he needed another one.

Ah...grandchildren. Time to get that boy married.

* * * * * * *

"Still working on that translation?" Coming into the big bedroom, filled with colored sunlight from the celestory windows that faced the beach, Panther leaned over his love's chair, hands on the desk, nuzzling at his neck. Chief tilted his head back and smiled at him. "Chance of a lifetime, Chief, I know." the bigger man said. "I can't believe we got pictures of all those documents in those fifteen minutes."

There was a knock at the door and Panther said come on in, sounding a bit like the old Jim.

"Isn't he done yet? I thought we were going out on the boat today." the familiar grousing tone hadn't changed much over the years, but there was no longer a cigar in the man's mouth. "Got some fishin' to do."

"You know how he gets about new Sentinel evidence." Panther dropped a kiss to the top of the white head. "But you can work on it tomorrow, Chief..." a teasing, wheedling tone entered his voice.

Chief sighed melodramatically, and put down his pen. Panther moved so he could get up, and then grinned when the younger man walked over to Simon, a touch of his old energy in it.

With a broad grin, Blair wrapped both arms around the black man and hugged him tightly.

"He says 'thanks for taking care of us.'" Panther said softly.

"He always says that." Simon groused, hugging back. "C'mon, you two, let's go have some fun."

Walking between the two men, an arm around each of them, the man called Chief looked happier than most of the people who had met him would have ever believed.

 

* fini *


End file.
